Perspectives on New Year
by White Rabbit 42
Summary: It's January 1st, 1998—the Frasier gang reminisces about the past year, and find that alcohol is not a bad substitute for a masseur.


The guards were panicking—as if an irresistible force was pressing against them—and seeing the massive enemy bulk at the gate, lunging, throwing itself at it, was enough to make almost anyone rethink their vow of allegiance. There was to be no salient, no flexible bulwark; taut as a piano wire, the line of defence could only snap, not bend. Rather than risk such a disaster, the decision was made to attempt a hasty withdrawal. Like corn tossed into the wind, they scattered, allowing the monstrosity to shuffle onwards; first a little hesitantly, as it had just faced grim, Parisian resistance, but then with ever more momentum, pushing ever closer towards its glorious goal, until…

'That's it, no more champagne,' he said. Ignoring the childish laughter and jeering of the others, he walked towards the piano.

'One more time?' he asked.

'Oh, go ahead,' a voice in the imperceptible distance answered him while his fingers started their drunken pirate dance.

'Pour, o, pour the pouilly-fuseé.' _Hic._

'Fill, oh fill the white wine glass!' his brother joined in.

'…and to make us plus amusé, don't let any d'mestics pass!'

One of the two women present giggled at them. In his heightened state of alcohol imbibition, her brassy voice (he assumed that she had not been drinking but, to him, she always had a brassy quality) sounded almost alluring, if it weren't for the dulcet chimes of the second woman: 'Look, he's got his head buried in Mr. Crane's shirt again!'

'If there was enough room, I'd join him.'

'All right, all right, enough singing.' Once more, there was that soothing, if a bit stilted, melody. 'A new year means new resolutions, so let's hear your resolutions.'

'You know, I hold in the highest regard the spirit of self-improvement, but New Year's resolutions? They are nothing more than thoughtlessly pledged heat-of-the-moment commitments that nobody ever lives up to. I swear, they lose more and more consequence as each year passes by.'

'Niles, you're good with words. What's the rude way of saying, "don't be such a miserable killjoy"?'

'Very funny, dad.'

'I wouldn't say Frasier's totally wrong. I've got my baby, my career and a relationship, so…'

Singular?'

'At least it's not null, like yours.'

'_We are in therapy._'

'Anyway, so I'm already pretty committed to a lot of things. Right now, I'm just happy if I can find a cab to get me back to my apartment.'

'I'm sorry. It must be tough only dating guys that don't even have the courtesy to drive you home,' he smirked, 'seeing that you can't spend the night at their place anymore.'

'I'd tell you to bite me, but seeing as Maris isn't here to give you her permission…'

Just as Niles' jousting with Roz began to take off, Daphne decided to share her New Year's resolution, but realized that she didn't have one (which was really the reason she wanted the others to go first), so she spent a few idle minutes thinking, pondering about what she would say, all the while quietly sipping her chardonnay with slurping noises—or would-be slurping noises, as the glass was practically empty—and even when her idle minutes outlasted Niles and Roz's argument, passed right through Frasier's speech on why Les Frères Heureux was not technically his fault, and led to her ignoring Martin's request for more beer, she was still formulating the most concise and eloquent manner which she could deliver her speech in, right up to the point where Niles blurted out: 'I've got it, dad! "Dispense with your priggishness, you whining, wet blanket!"' to which she could only reply, 'Thank you very much, Dr. Crane, now I have to start all over!'

'Er, don't worry about the beer, Daphne. I think we've all had enough drinks for one night.'

'Niles, it took you 5 minutes to come up with that,' Frasier said, as he took the glasses from Niles and Daphne's hands, 'and you seem to have forgotten that unexplained wet blankets were your childhood bane, not mine.

'Oh, yeah? Then whose protégé was Sheldon?' Niles countered.

Trying not to roll his eyes, Frasier called for a cab. 'Another magical New Year,' he thought. Except, no, 'magical' wouldn't be much of a misnomer. His familial relationships were starting to grow unexpectedly strong. His father, who had a vexing lack of concord with him, having given him a bolo tie as part of some bizarre police tradition just over a year ago, was not only grateful for his help with Sherry, but the two could now last half a week without raising each other's voices; his brother, who had the most infuriating like-mindedness, showed him just what it meant to have a sibling when he, or rather, they, gave Martin Agides. Before he could stop himself, however, he remembered that Frederick hadn't been over for Christmas due to a failed biology experiment which Lilith permitted him to conduct in his room; and to top it all of, he was becoming sick of complaining about his ramshackle love life—Sam, Kelly, and…who was that woman he met in Niles' apartment? Actually, to top it all off, Daphne had just begun to tell them about her resolution.

'Daph, is this going to take all night?'

'Because I could listen to you all night.' Niles smiled back at her and, feeling a slight tingling on his bottom lip, promptly sucked his saliva back in. 'I hope she didn't notice that,' he thought. But how could she have? After all these years, he was still virtually invisible to her. 'That's so glaringly untrue it aches just thinking about it. Wasn't she smiling at me just a few seconds ago?' For example, there was the night he spent with her in Maris's mansion, the night of the Snow Ball, and that time the two sat together in 'The Sure Thing'. 'I don't see how or why that should concern me. I have my Maris, after all, and I'm sure we'll make excellent progress during counselling.' Does he even need to remind himself of everything that could go wrong? 'No, because deep down, Maris loves me.' By now, Niles had become irratio… 'Oh, shut up!'

'Niles? Niles. Your cab will be here in a few minutes, okay?'

'Mm-hmm,' he replied, putting a hand on Frasier's shoulder. They looked at Daphne.

'…and I don't care what they say. If I don't do it now, I'll be sleeping on the floor,' she said with a determined air, and made a beeline for her room.

'Did anyone catch the beginning of that?' There was a bemused silence.

'So Martin, do you have a resolution?'

Martin shifted a little nervously in his chair, feeling obligated to answer Roz's question but also averse to give himself his word since he'd inevitably break it, and of course not at all appreciating the irony (though he was fully aware of it, which on most counts should've made it doubly enjoyable). He tried to give her a warm, welcoming look, a forgiving look, like the kind a loving father would give to his prodigal daughter, and said, 'You first.'

'It's like I said: I don't really have one.'

'Well, don't listen to Frasier. New Year's resolutions are meant to be…I don't know, spontaneous and, er, at a whim. Just make one up.'

'I will. But I asked you first.'

'Um, it's not just for this year. I mean, if I can do it within this year, then great, but it's sort of a long-term plan. I want to have my very own fishing boat. You know, one of those big ones with glazed wooden decks—they're beautiful—or at the very least, a Winnebago, so I can take the boys out with Sherry and travel all over the country. Look at them,' he chuckled, 'they're already gasping and choking. Oh well, it'll probably never happen. I'd have to sell some kind of family heirloom to be able to afford it.'

'Dad, Niles and I have been talking, and we'd like you to know that you can sell us if it means we won't have to go fishing with you.'

'What did you think I meant by "family heirlooms"?'

'Now, now, Frasier, it's nice to know that our father prizes us so.'

'I'm going to take in some fresh air.'

Roz rose from her chair, and walked to the balcony. The cold air was sharp, and still smelled of sulfur and charcoal. The city lights washed out the stars, but requited with their own, and the few remaining fireworks lit up the horizon like a distant battlefield. All she could hear was the blowing of the wind, and the scuffing of an old man and his cane.

'Do you want my coat? It's not exactly warm out here.'

She looked at the mangy piece of fabric he held, but she wasn't cold.

'No thanks.'

'Okay.'

Roz looked at him.

'Okay. My resolution would be to…' she began, and her thoughts turned inwards: 'What should I name her? Or him? I guess it should be the least of my worries. God, not the stale milk again. Just remember what Frasier told you. And it might have been an accident, but I will not turn it into a mistake. Wow, that sounded a lot better in my subconscious. And in a few months, my subconscious is going to look better too. All that eating I have to do, and the extra weight. I don't even want to think about it.' Then they turned outwards: 'Was it just me, or did Martin give me a look I've never seen from him before? What was it he said I needed to get? A husband. Right, 9 months to find a man I love who's also willing to share the responsibilities of a baby with me. I've spent years just trying to find a guy I like spending time with. Thank God I've got a relatively stable career, even though it kind of depends on a neurotic psychiatrist. Well, he's not bad. As long as he doesn't do anything stupid within the near future, I'll be fine.' She focused back on Martin, and continued, 'get closer to my friends, eat healthier, but otherwise, keep handling the status quo. Well, it sounds awfully hackneyed, but that's basically it.'

'It's not hackneyed. With all the things you're juggling, it's best to stay on a straight course. 'Course, if you think that's bad, look at me. At 65 years, the only thing I dare to dream about is a _boat_.'

'Well, it's a bit hard to stay straight when you've got Bebe as your agent.'

'Bebe?!' he laughed.

'Don't tell Frasier, ok? I signed with her a while ago, and this month she got me my first voice-over job.'

'Huh, well, happy New Year, Roz,' he grinned.

'Happy New Year, Martin.'

Inside the apartment, the pirates were at it again: 'Here's a chap of great wine learning, ready for a mighty deed; keen his scent, his tongue discerning, he's a connoisseur indeed!'

They played and sang, much to the cab driver's chagrin, into the early morning.


End file.
